Sabine, where have you been? Why haven’t you written? Can you really be a homesteading queen if the world doesn’t know it? Let me tell you, my dear readers. For the last three months we have been painters. Not farmers. Maybe homesteaders. But we have definitely been painters. Our gardens have gone unweeded, our sheep have gone unpet. All I can think about is paint, paint, paint. Oh and don’t forget: scrape, scrape, scrape. When I close my eyes, I see paint chips falling. How I wish I could tell you it was snow. But no, it’s the crusty white paint on our house.
That’s her. Our 1790s farm house. Sigh. Isn’t she grand? Well at least that’s what she looked like in July. Now she’s pretty bare. Scrapped to the bones. or wood, to be exact. I would take a picture for you BUT I write this in the middle of a Nor’ester. Instead, look at these photos of scrapped sides, and imagine the front looking that way too:
We are painting our house red. We are almost done, but I’ve been saying that for a month now. All that’s left to finish is THE FRONT (+the side that we need to reside, but we’re saving that for the spring). The parts that are finished look GREAT! Better than I ever had imagined.
Primed 
Painted
“You’re property value is going to go up!” Ha. I love my mother. She is a realtor. And a rock star. And amuses me to death. But I think she has a point. It looks a lot better than the old white paint its replacing.
This weekend is the last (?) big push. With 8 family members working hard, maybe we can get it done. Maybe. Dad are you reading this…. Scott… Sheila… WE NEED YOU!
I kid. We will be painting until the day I die. Or at least it feels like it at this point.